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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394804">big sky country</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/classicalreader313/pseuds/classicalreader313'>classicalreader313</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Long Walk - Richard Bachman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Pining, Religion, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Road Trips, Secret Relationship, Superstition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:27:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/classicalreader313/pseuds/classicalreader313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was one of those spur of the moment, halfway drunk promises that you don’t think will ever come true."</p><p>Art Baker, Collie Parker, Abraham, Pete McVries, and Ray Garraty embark on a cross-country road trip to Montana, traveling nearly 3,000 miles to see some stars.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Collie Parker/Art Baker, Ray Garraty/Peter McVries (minor)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. portland, maine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanthippe/gifts">Xanthippe</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was early June, one of those summer nights where the humidity buzzed around your skull long after the sun went down. Art Baker, Collie Parker, Abraham, Pete McVries, and Ray Garraty were out in Abe’s backyard, drinking cheap beers and sitting in shitty plastic lawn chairs. Weeds grew up around their feet and scratched at their legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a summer night like any other. They’d been doing this since they all became friends in the 10th grade, five years ago. Back then, they’d been drinking sodas, and warm diluted vodka that they’d taken from Abraham’s parents’ liquor cabinet. The next year, Collie’s older brother had turned 21, and they’d started drinking beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all lived in the same part of town, and they were in the same homeroom class, so it was only natural that they all became friends. When it came time to apply to colleges, they all ended up going to the University of Southern Maine in Portland. Art Baker always knew he’d go to college in Portland, but he didn’t expect his friends to do the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were plenty of other schools in Maine, and he figured Collie would go to school in Illinois- he certainly complained about Maine enough- so Art was pleasantly surprised when they all ended up at the same school in the fall. What the five of them had was special, and he was glad he didn’t lose it back then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art leaned back, his beer can sweating onto his hand. They’d been drinking all night, since the sun went down, and his head felt fuzzy and light. Music was playing softly from McVries’s speaker, and Parker and Abraham were bickering about something in that familiar way they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His legs felt hot from the fire blazing in the pit at the center of their loosely formed circle. Abraham’s dad always kept firewood out on the back porch, and Ray had been in Cub Scouts as a kid. He made quick work of starting a fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fire was low now. At the beginning of the night, Ray had been pretty good about stoking it whenever it started to die down, but the fire was the last thing on his mind by this point. He was laughing at whatever Abraham and Collie were saying, and Pete’s chair was pulled up close to his. He was no longer pretending to be annoyed or pushing him away when Pete twisted around in his seat and stretched his legs over Ray’s lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was usually the point in the night that Baker checked out, his brain too hazy to follow the line of conversation. He was about to ask Abraham if he could go crash on his couch, when he let his head loll back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked into the night sky and his eyes were drawn up and up and up. The sky was an inky expanse of black, pinholed by the brilliant white of the stars. If he knew the constellations, he was sure he’d be able to see them all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys,” he said softly, feeling in awe. “Look up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hush fell over the group, the only sound being the quiet guitar ballad playing from Pete’s speaker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-” Collie, started, with that defiant tone of voice he used when he talked about his hometown. He’d lived in Maine for five years, but his overzealous state pride for Illinois hadn’t let up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you ain’t got anything like this in Joliet,” Art answered back immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abraham immediately started laughing, and Baker didn’t need to look up to know that Parker was smiling too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence descended again, and time seemed to move slower. Baker couldn’t tear his eyes away from those stars. He wanted to get lost up there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Ray broke the silence. “You know, I read in a book once that the best stars are in Montana,” he said quietly. Everything seemed quiet now, next to the all-consuming stretch of sky. It was like they were all reining in their voices, for fear the sky would swallow up all the noise. “They call it ‘Big Sky Country.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go,” Art said suddenly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we should,” Collie agreed, and Art sat fully upright immediately, almost hurting his neck in the process. He’d expected them to laugh at him, or just ignore him. But Collie was just looking back at him from across the circle, no trace of joking on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be pretty awesome,” Abraham said, taking another sip from his beer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A road trip,” Pete proposed. “It doesn’t get much more adolescent than a road trip. Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Catcher in the Rye, </span>
  </em>
  <span>huh?” he asked, nudging Ray with his foot, a slanted smirk on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck off,” Ray laughed, shoving his legs away. “Stop pretending you’ve never read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Catcher in the Rye.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed they were all in agreement. Art stood up, excused himself, and went inside to pass out on Abraham’s couch.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It was one of those spur of the moment, halfway drunk promises that you don’t think will ever come true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Art woke up at around 7:00 in the morning. Ray and Pete were still asleep, burrowed under blankets on the living room floor, and Abraham and Collie were probably still upstairs. Art brewed himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen and went out onto the front porch to drink it. He sat down on the wooden porch steps and wrapped his hands around the mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was early June, but the morning was still chilly, before the heat and humidity of the day sunk in. It would be hot by ten in the morning, but for now Art was comfortable enough in a sweatshirt and sleep shorts. All down the street, the other people in the neighborhood were starting their days. Getting in their cars and driving off to work. Kids were heading to the bus stop for their last few days of the school year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art had finished his coffee and was hugging his cold legs to his chest by the time a weathered green minivan pulled up in front of Abraham’s house. He cocked his head as Collie hopped out of the front seat, a box of a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts donuts balanced on one hand and a plastic bag in the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the hell did you go?” Art asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got breakfast for you assholes,” Collie answered, letting the box of donuts fall on the porch and plopping down on the steps next to Art. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art, just now realizing how hungry he was, immediately opened up the box. “Oh, you got my favorite!” He grabbed a jelly donut and bit into it immediately, holding his other hand beneath it like a bowl to catch any jelly filling that fell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I did. I know you by now,” Collie said, grinning at him. “I got this, too,” he continued, pulling what looked like folded cardstock out of the plastic bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Art asked. He took another bite of the donut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a map. Whole continental United States. Coast to coast.” He looked proud as he opened it up to show to Art. “To plan our road trip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, actually?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually,” Collie answered. “After you went inside last night, we all talked about it, and we’re in. Ray’s already done some research on the best towns in Montana. We’ll take the van.” He gestured to the piece of shit minivan parked in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Art wasn’t thinking about the van, or the logistics, or any number of nightmares they could encounter on the road. He was thinking about his friends, and the countryside, and the stars. “That’s really cool,” is what he finally said, and he wasn’t sure if he meant how his friends were on board, or the road trip itself, or how excited Collie Parker got about a two dollar map he’d bought at the convenient store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think so,” Collie laughed, resting the map on his leg. “You got a little something on your face…” He reached up a hand tentatively to brush at the corner of Art’s mouth, and then he flinched away like he finally realized what he was doing. Art sheepishly wiped away the powdered sugar from his face. He looked down, his face burning red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Touching Collie felt electric now. He became aware of his knee pressing against Collie’s, and the rough denim of his jeans against his skin. He sprang to his feet, grabbing his empty coffee mug and the box of donuts. “We should, uh, wake up everyone else,” he said, trying to act nonchalant to distract from his decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>un-</span>
  </em>
  <span>nonchalant behavior. “So we can start planning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sounds good,” Collie said, looking up at Art in that unguarded way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art turned and went into the house, the screen door banging shut behind him. He didn’t look back.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Twenty minutes later, enough coffee had been brewed for all of them and the donuts were passed around. They crowded around the map laid out on Abraham’s coffee table, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Collie had a black sharpie in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Ray said, pulling out his phone. “I’ve found a list of the best cities in Montana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Towns,” Collie said matter-of-factly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, Collie, some of them are cities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fucking Montana. They’re towns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Ray laughed. “Towns. Anyways, I think Butte might be the best one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s that at?” Art asked,  leaning forward on his knees to see the map better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray took the sharpie from Collie and circled it on the map. It was in the western part of the state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie cracked up as soon as he saw what Ray had circled. “What do you mean, Bee-yoot? That straight up says ‘butt.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group dissolved into laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Real mature, Parker. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Real </span>
  </em>
  <span>mature,” Pete choked out between laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Collie, maybe you oughta learn to read,” Abraham teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! You might be my friends, but I’ll still beat the shit out of you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no heat behind it, though, and the group fell into another fit of laughter. Art buried his head in his hands as his lungs strained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they had all calmed down and Ray had handed the marker back to Collie, Abraham proposed, “I think we should all choose a place we want to stop along the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m definitely taking you assholes to Chicago!” Collie immediately shouted, circling it on the map. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next, the room was filled with overlapping voices as they all clambered to share their picks. They settled on Niagara Falls, Mount Rushmore, and a handful of national parks. Collie circled all of them in thick lines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…” Abraham said once they had settled on all of their stops. He was leaning back, twirling a chocolate donut around his pinkie finger. “Should we like plan this out or just make it up as we go along?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that sounds alright,” Collie agreed, while Ray shrugged and nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, you’re all hopeless,” Pete said, exasperated and snatching the map. “I’ll plan it out for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why you?” Abraham asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because…” Pete answered. Abraham fixed him with a questioning glance. “I’m good at math.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, it’s settled then,” Collie said, capping the sharpie and getting to his feet. “Be ready to leave in a week.” He pointed at them all in turn with the marker, like it was a warning. He returned his attention back to Pete. “That means you and your nerdy itinerary, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete rolled his eyes fondly. They did everything with a fondness. “It’s not nerdy to know where you’re going.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. south portland, maine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the boys hit the road, and stop at target</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next week, they left Portland. Art Baker still couldn’t believe that it was happening, but they met in front of Collie’s house early in the morning and loaded their bags in the back of his mom’s old minivan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray brought a ziploc bag full of bandaids, disinfectant, and painkillers, and Abraham dragged a cooler behind him, stuffed with ice packs, and water, and sandwiches. Collie and Abraham boosted it into the trunk and Collie opened it up to look inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abe, what kind of snacks are these?” he asked, rifling through the cooler. “Where’s the good stuff, like sodas, and chips? You know, shit like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean? I made these sandwiches last night! They’re good!” Abraham defended. “There’s lunch meat, there’s peanut butter and jelly. That’s the kind of good energy you need on the road.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Collie said, shutting the top of the cooler. “We’ll stop at the store.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the cooler and the sandwiches, Abe,” Ray said, slinging his backpack off his shoulder and setting it in the trunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ray,” he responded. “It feels good to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>appreciated.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on, don’t act so put-upon,” Collie said, turning around and fixing Abraham with a look. “I’m the one with the goddamn car- you don’t see anyone thanking me. I even got gas last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, thanks so much for the piece of shit van,” Pete said, that slanted smile on his face. He slapped the side of the van, as if to prove his point. Art put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice job, McVries, you just landed yourself the back seat!” Collie shot back. He wasn’t really mad, but he sometimes liked to get worked up over nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, that might actually be for the best,” Abraham said. “We best get a move on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abe, you’re navigating.” Collie walked around the side of the van and opened the driver’s side door. “And, Art, don’t think I didn’t see you laughing. I’ll take care of you later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the threat, Art rolled his eyes and slid open the back door of the van. Pete climbed in first, stretching out in the back seat. Art and Ray clambered in after him, sitting in the second row of seats. Abraham settled into the passenger’s seat. Collie twisted the key in the ignition, and the minivan’s engine roared to life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buckle up, kiddos!” Collie said, fastening his own seatbelt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, mom,” Pete crooned from the backseat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie twisted around in his seat to look at Pete. Art and Ray shrunk away from his gaze. “Don’t make me come back there,” he warned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very maternal. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Abraham noted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie simply said, “Thank you.” He twisted back around in his seat, and they pulled away from the curb.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They ended up going to the Target in South Portland, about a twenty minute drive from Collie’s house. Once inside they split up, and Collie and Art went to grab some snacks. It was still early, so the store was fairly empty. They mostly ran into stay-at-home moms, doing some shopping after dropping their kids off at school or daycare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What chips do you think are best?” Art asked, pushing the cart down the chips and candy aisle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barbecue, Doritos, sour cream and onion,” Collie rattled off, grabbing bags off the shelves and tossing them into the cart. He bounded to the end of the aisle and started comparing different kinds of beef jerky. He looked back at Art. “Grab whatever you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art hesitated for a moment, surveying the shelves full of brightly colored snacks, before grabbing a bag of Chex Mix. He pushed the cart to the end of the aisle, where Collie was debating between two flavors of beef jerky- teriyaki and black pepper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get them both,” Art said, snapping Collie out of his thoughts. “We’ll be on the road a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, two fuckin’ weeks. Pete’s schedule is pretty, uh, intense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be okay? You and him?” Art asked cautiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie laughed, and started walking. Art pushed the cart after him. “Of course, we’re okay. You know how I get. I like to get into it, sometimes. Pete’s usually the one who wants to play along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art shrugged and nodded. “I guess that’s true. Abe, too. You even try to fight with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ray, </span>
  </em>
  <span>sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were in the drinks aisle now, and Collie was checking out a 24 pack of Red Bull. Art wrinkled his nose- he hated Red Bull. “Aw, Art, are you just jealous I’m not picking fights with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a stupid thing to say, but Art blushed deep red. “No, jeez, that’s not it. We just got a long time to be on the road,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Collie said, lifting up the pack of Red Bull and placing it in the cart. “I can’t even think of anything to pick a fight with you about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We got plenty of time to figure it out,” Art replied, and Collie barked out a laugh, picking up a pack of diet Coke and a two liter bottle of sweet tea. The tea made Art smile- that was for him, no doubt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, about 6,000 miles worth of time, I guess,” Collie agreed.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They were walking to the front of the store on their way to meet the others, when Collie asked, “Did you pack deodorant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art paused and thought about it. He’d remembered packing his toothbrush and toothpaste, all the clothes he thought he would need, and his razor, but he didn’t know about the deodorant. “Um… I’m not so sure,” he admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I definitely didn’t bring any, and I doubt any of the rest of the dumbasses did.” They stopped in the men’s deodorant aisle, and Collie grabbed a few Old Spice deodorants and dumped them in the cart. A grin broke out over his face as he grabbed a can off the shelf. He asked, “Do you think I should get some Axe body spray?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” came Art’s immediate answer, and Collie broke out into laughter. “You’ll kill us with that. That shit’s as good as tear gas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie tossed the can towards the cart, and Art slapped it down, sending the body spray skidding across the floor. They were both laughing, Art holding onto the side of the cart to stay upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Art, fine. No Axe,” Collie relented, picking up the can and popping it back onto the shelf. “Should’ve gone out for basketball in high school, blocking like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the deodorant procured, they went to the front of the store, where Abraham, Ray, and Pete were already waiting for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did y’all get?” Art asked, stopping the cart in front of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got a pack of boxers,” Abe answered sheepishly. “I can’t remember if I packed enough underwear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete snorted, and Ray put his head in his hand. “That’s just gross,” he said. “How do any of us function?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saving Abraham from embarrassment, Collie asked, “What’d you get, Ray?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured it’d be easier to rest in the car with pillows and blankets, so I grabbed some,” he answered, gesturing to his own cart. There were a few pillows and some grey and white fuzzy blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” Collie said. “Now you, Pete.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got some music for the drive,” he said, holding up some CDs. They were mostly Johnny Cash with some Bob Dylan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These actually look pretty good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t act surprised,” Pete replied. “Me and Ray are putting together a few playlists for the trip, but we’re not quite done, so these’ll do for now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. I can’t do that. I can’t listen to another of your goddamn playlists.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Pete looked affronted. “Me and Ray always play our playlists when we hang out in Abe’s yard. You don’t complain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, when I’m drunk. I barely notice it. But drinking and driving is frowned upon,” Collie shot back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art shook his head in disbelief and laughed. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Collie answered, and they went to go checkout.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. blandford, massachusetts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>they set off for Niagara Falls, and stop for lunch at Becket Quarry</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They got through the checkout line quickly, and then they were back in the van- Pete in the back, Ray and Art in the middle seats, and Abraham and Collie up front. Abraham fiddled with his phone, pulling up the directions to Niagara Falls while Collie popped in the first of the Johnny Cash CDs that Pete had bought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>American IV: The Man Comes Around </span>
  </em>
  <span>album. Johnny Cash’s voice came over the speakers, saying: "And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder. One of the four beasts saying, 'Come and see.' and I saw, and behold a white horse."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Abraham said. “A song about judgement day to start our trip. That’s not a bad sign at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a song,” Ray said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ray’s right,” Pete added, lazing in the back row. “No need to worry yourself, Abe. Geez, good thing it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>God’s Gonna Cut You Down </span>
  </em>
  <span>or we never would’ve gotten this thing off the ground.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the side mirror, Art could see a hint of a grimace on Abraham’s face, but Collie was laughing and asking him to start the directions. Over top of the music, came the canned voice of the maps app: “Turn right to merge onto Maine Turnpike toward I-95. In 55 miles, keep left on I-95 South.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie whistled low through his teeth. “Shit. Fifty-five miles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better get a move on!” It was Pete, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Lot more where that came from.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie didn’t answer that, and they pulled out of the parking lot and merged onto the Maine Turnpike. Art didn’t quite know what he thought about the song, but he felt like he was on Abraham’s side. He didn’t practice much now, but he was raised Baptist, and his family had been heavily involved in the church down home in Louisiana, until they moved. They’d found a new church when they moved up to Maine. Art had been baptized in Highland Lake, just a thirty minute drive out of Portland, when he was eleven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had stood in the water that came up nearly to his armpits, his clothing floating loose around him and the marshy bottom of the lake swirling and tugging at his feet. It was a bright hot day in early May, but the water was cold, and the look in the minister’s eyes was serious. Art had been scared then. He wanted to turn tail and run back to his mother. But his mother and father and aunt and uncle were watching with bated breath, and his siblings were waiting on the shore, their shoes and socks shucked off and tossed aside. They were watching him too, and waiting for their turn. He was the oldest now; he had to be brave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art had then been dunked under the water and he resisted the urge to thrash against the strong hands that held him. The lake water wrapped around him and engulfed him like a coffin. He was drowning. He had forgotten to take a breath before the minister submerged him, and now he was drowning. He thought of another body, rotting in standing water, and bubbles expelled from his mouth in a mad burst as he let out a soundless scream. Finally, he was hauled up by the collar of his starched white dress shirt, and he came up breathless and temporarily blinded by the sun, while his mother cheered hysterically on the shore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking of it now still made him feel like he was going to be sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even more than religion though, his life was ruled by superstition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Superstitions were as sure as summer storms and waves of summer heat rising up from the cracked and melted asphalt. The whole south was steeped in superstition, and the Baker family was no exception. Superstition worked its way into the practices and customs of every season. On New Year’s, they ate black-eyed peas and collard greens for good luck and money. In fact, that was what they ate nearly all year round, because that was what they could afford. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Baker children went around town with dimes strung around their necks to ward off the devil, and whenever his mother opened a new loaf of bread, she threw the first end slice in the garbage. “To keep money comin’ our way,” she explained when Art asked about it. Art watched, forlorn and hungry, as she tossed the bread into the garbage. Money never seemed to come their way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the summer, when the alligators came out of hibernation and the humidity floated off the wetlands and settled heavily over everything, Art was warned about alligators climbing out of the bayou and slithering under his house. Those meant there would be a death in the family soon. Art always took the stairs up and down the porch two at a time, frantic to get away from the monster hiding under the house, waiting for the perfect moment to snap at his ankles and drag him under.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There weren’t any alligators in Maine, but Art still sometimes dreamed of one, lying in wait for him, red eyes glowing out of the darkness. He shuddered imperceptibly at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would a song ruin their whole trip? No, but a part of him still felt apprehensive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside the window, South Portland disappeared, and they were on the Maine Turnpike, heading south. The song had changed, and</span>
  <em>
    <span> Hurt </span>
  </em>
  <span>was playing now. Over the van’s speaker system, Johnny Cash’s voice sang: “What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end.” The guitar melody built behind his voice in a way that made Art’s chest tighten. It rose in a crescendo and then disappeared as the next verse began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have any of you heard the original of this song?” Ray asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From behind them, Pete answered, “Yeah. Nine Inch Nails. It’s good, but, you know, it’s not this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be fucking pissed if I wrote a song and then found out Johnny Cash did a cover of it,” Collie said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abraham laughed in the passenger seat. “Of course you’d be pissed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah! You write a song about some personal shit, and then Johnny Cash comes along and sings it and makes it a hundred times better. How would you feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought for a moment and shrugged. “Shit, yeah. I guess I’d be kinda mad too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys are thinking about it the wrong way,” Art said. “Imagine getting a call that Johnny Cash wants to record your song? That’d be exciting. That’d be an honor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see Collie looking at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes creased with his smile. “I guess that’s right.” It made Art smile too, and duck his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a good thing you’re on this thing with us, Art,” Abraham said, twisting around in his seat to face him. “It’s a good thing at least one of us isn’t an asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Pete protested. “Ray’s not an asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray snorted, and said, “Thanks, Pete.” Abraham twisted back around in his seat. The song changed. Art looked back out the window.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>In a half hour, approximately forty miles into their journey, they passed a sign saying that there was a  toll plaza in four miles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Collie said, turning the music down a few notches. “Who brought cash for tolls?” Silence answered him. Art had completely forgotten that they’d even need to pay tolls. “Jesus, nobody?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a rest stop coming up on the right,” Abraham told him, reading the road signs as they zoomed past. “There’ll be an ATM there. We can take some cash out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A couple miles down the road and they pulled into the rest stop. The parking lot was mostly empty as they all piled out of the minivan. The rest stop was a small building with a dramatically slanting roof and the front was mostly covered over with windows. Out front was a Smokey the Bear statue with a sign next to him proclaiming the fire danger in the area for today. The risk was low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I say we each take out $20,” Abraham suggested. “That should be good to start out, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” Ray said, looking like he was deep in thought. “After this, we’ve got a toll to get on the New Hampshire turnpike, and a shitton of them in Massachusetts. Once we’re west of New York, I have no clue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geez, you’re like a walking road map,” Pete said admiringly. Ray ducked his head. “We can spend whatever leftover cash we have on food and stuff.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group turned and headed towards the rest stop. Art followed, but Collie caught his arm and held him back. Art looked down at the hand and then into his friend’s face. Collie dropped his hand quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Art, if you want I can take out money for both of us,” he offered, his face flushed like he was embarrassed. “You don’t have to take out the $20 if you don’t want to.” Art heard the implication there. He meant: “if you can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was Art’s turn to feel embarrassed. It brought him back to being a kid, and not being allowed to go to birthday parties because he couldn’t afford to rent the bowling shoes or the roller skates. It brought him back to eleventh grade, when they all got their driver’s licenses and started to go out to eat on the weekends and pass late nights crammed into diner booths. Pete had always pulled him aside and offered to pay his way for him. Pete always looked at him with a kind and earnest look in his eyes, and shame always rolled around in Art’s stomach like a hot coal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt it now, rolling around in his stomach and pressing down on the back of his neck, forcing him to look down at his shoes. Collie was bouncing from one foot to the other, looking back at the rest stop every so often. The others were probably already crowded around the ATM, wondering what the hell was wrong with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, Collie. I can pay my own way. I have some money saved up,” he answered, finally looking back up at Collie. “Besides, it’s not like any of us have a ton of money.” Sickly he thought: </span>
  <em>
    <span>there’s a big difference between being middle class and being poor. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He knew that, and he knew Collie knew that. For a second, he thought Collie was going to say it, but mercifully, he didn’t. He just patted Art on the back, and the two of them walked across the parking lot to the rest stop.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Once they had finished at the rest stop, Collie had a modest stack of twenty dollar bills in his hand. The twisted the key in the ignition and the van rumbled to life. They pulled easily out onto the highway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was still only 9:30 in the morning, and the only traffic was huge semi-trucks carrying goods and produce across state lines. They rose up around the minivan on all sides, dwarfing it. Art figured the traffic would be heavier once they got closer to Boston. The route that Pete had devised had them driving within thirty miles of the city before veering off west into New York. Abraham’s phone estimated they wouldn’t reach Niagara Falls until 5:00 in the evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their Johnny Cash CD had just restarted, and Abraham was shuffling through the other ones Pete had bought as Collie pulled up to the tollbooth. The toll only cost $3.00, and he handed the woman working in the booth a twenty with what looked like an apologetic smile. She gave him his change, the bar lifted, and they drove on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She probably thought I was a dick, paying with a twenty,” he mumbled to himself, sticking the change in his cup holder as he continued down I-95 South. Over the radio, Johnny Cash sang: “Whoever is unjust let him be unjust still. Whoever is righteous let him be righteous still. Whoever is filthy let him be filthy still. Listen to the words long written down, when the man comes around.” It was the song that had played when they first left the Target back in South Portland, the song that had made Abraham nervous. It made Art nervous, too. The upbeat guitar playing underneath it only served to remind him of his father, playing hymns on the back porch in Louisiana. The songs were always happy, but they said such horrible things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if Abraham still thought the song was a bad sign. He wanted to ask him, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, in the car, in broad daylight. It seemed like the sort of thing where, if you admitted to it in the daylight, all the monsters and all the bad luck in the world would find you and strike you down. Better to say it in the dark, where you could hide. Art gulped- he guessed he was more superstitious than he thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abraham ejected the CD, causing the music to cut out sharply. He put in the next CD, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>American III: Solitary Man </span>
  </em>
  <span>album. The first song on the album was </span>
  <em>
    <span>I Won’t Back Down. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A cover of a Tom Petty song. He noticed Collie was singing softly to himself. It made Art smile. He knew it was just the sort of song Collie would latch onto. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray had turned in his seat, and he and Pete had their heads together, putting their playlist together. Collie’s words in the Target that morning hadn’t deterred them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much do y’all have so far?” Art asked, turning in his seat too to face them better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got like a hundred songs,” Ray answered. “All sorts of stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” was Art’s only response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think once we add a bit more we’ll be done,” Pete added. “We’re gonna be on the road for some ninety hours. Gotta be prepared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art turned back around. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly he had set into motion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ninety hours on the road. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They crossed over a bridge, and beneath them the Piscataqua River lazed along. Some sailboats were gliding over the surface. Art wondered what it would be like, to lay on the deck on a sailboat, warming in the sun. Maybe his friends would be there too, casting their fishing lines over the side of the boat. Art decided that would be nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sign posted on their right announced that they were entering New Hampshire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at that! We’re in New Hampshire!” he gasped out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New state!” Abe cheered, banging on the car dashboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe New Hampshire will be more to your liking, Parker,” Pete teased from the backseat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art was excited- it had been a long time since he’d crossed the Maine state line. They finished crossing the bridge, and the Maine Turnpike became the Blue Star Turnpike. The trip felt real in a way it hadn’t before. Art hadn’t left Maine since he was a kid, and now he was going to travel across the country. He looked around him, eagerly left and right, and took it all in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another twenty miles of driving, they came to another tollbooth. “Christ, again?” Collie exclaimed. “Fuck Maine, and fuck Maine’s roads.” They all laughed at his customary outburst. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you mean New Hampshire?” Abe supplied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, fuck New Hampshire, too,” Collie grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… so far Parker hates 4% of states. Should we start placing bets on what that number’ll be by the end of the trip?” Pete asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie ignored him and gave the man at the tollbooth a few crumpled dollar bills. Then they were through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Ray asked him fondly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Pete replied, and leaned back in his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art looked out the window.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>They were in New Hampshire for only half an hour, and then they were crossing into Massachusetts. Another state to add to Art’s list. As they passed over the state line, Pete asked, in that fake earnest voice of his, “What do ya think of this one, Collie? Gonna add it to the list? Make it 6%?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna get your stupid ass thrown out,” Art choked out between laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Art’s right, Pete. You’re getting yourself on my shit list,” Collie said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who isn’t on your shit list?” Abraham asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, Abe, you’re supposed to be on my side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell, it’s fun to watch you get all red in the face.” Abraham grinned. Collie rolled his eyes but grinned too and kept on driving. They merged onto I-495 South, and then all the road signs began to point towards Boston. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking we could stop and eat lunch around noon, and then switch drivers,” Pete said. His antagonistic streak seemed to be over, and he was back to examining the itinerary he’d put together for the trip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a good idea,” Ray agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like the sound of that,” Collie said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How you doin’ up there, Collie?” Art asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” he assured, rolling back his shoulders and stretching. “But I’ll be ready to switch two hours from now.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>They were mostly quiet after that, just singing along to the CD playing over the radio, until they were nearing Lawrence, Massachusetts. There was an exit leading onto I-93 South, which would take them into Boston.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Collie, can we go to Boston?” Abraham asked, looking longingly out the window, as if he could see the city’s skyline from the highway, thirty miles away. “I’ve never been to Boston.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck lives in Maine and hasn’t been to Boston?” Collie asked in disbelief. “I’m not even from here and I’ve fucking been to Boston.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, fuck you. I don’t have a car, dipshit,” Abe shot back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a shitty excuse. Just take a Greyhound from Portland into Boston,” Collie replied. “You guys have been to Boston, right? Even you, Art?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray and Pete nodded, but Art shook his head. “No, I’ve never been. Until this, I hadn’t even left Maine in like eight years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all looked faintly surprised at this. “Jesus, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Collie asked incredulously. “I’ve failed the two of you as a friend,” he said to Art and Abraham. “Once we get back, I’m taking the two of you to Boston.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art liked the sound of that- exploring a new city with Abraham and Collie Parker. His world seemed so much bigger than it had this morning, so much bigger than his present in Maine and his past in Louisiana.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>By the time noon rolled around, they were nearing Blandford, Massachusetts. Boston was over a hundred miles behind them. “Pull off here,” Abraham instructed, and Collie did, and they rolled into Blandford. The welcome sign said the population was 1,233.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a park around here that’s really pretty. We should eat there,” Ray said, looking intently at his phone screen. Collie asked for directions, and Ray gave them. After a few minutes of driving they pulled into the parking lot of Becket Quarry and Collie paid the parking attendant $10. They’d already spent nearly $20, and it had only been a few hours. That stack of twenties wasn’t stretching as far as Art thought it would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all got out of the van and crowded around the trunk, pulling sandwiches and water bottles out of the cooler Abraham had brought. Collie grabbed one of the packs of beef jerky out of a Target bag, and then they were locking up the van and heading down the trail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a far walk to the quarry, and along the path and trees surrounded them, green and leafy and tall. They reached the end of the path, and came upon the quarry. It was beautiful- the surface of the water reflected the endless blue sky overhead, and large rock faces emerged from the water and towered over it, covered over with moss and bright green foliage. There were a few different groups sitting around the quarry, but it was mostly empty- plenty of room for them to spread out and eat their lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abraham climbed one of the smaller rock formations overlooking the water and set his water and sandwich down. “We should go swimming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the group looked eager, excited at the prospect, but Art hesitated. “How deep is it?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s a quarry, so I think the most shallow spot will still be at least forty feet,” Ray answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forty feet,” Art repeated softly to himself. That was awfully deep. It would be easy to disappear in that water and never come up again. That old panic gripped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of them were stripping down to their boxers to swim. Abraham dove in first, and then Pete jumped in, dragging Ray with him by his hands. Collie went next, doing a cannonball and splashing the three of them in the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art wished he could follow, but he imagined jumping in and sinking down down down, away from the light. Instead he took off his shoes and socks and sat at the edge of the water, his legs under it up to his mid-calves. The water was cold, perfectly refreshing for a summer day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few feet away, Abraham was floating on his back, and Pete and Ray splashed at him, giggling to each other like conspirators. Collie was swimming laps around them, his tanned arms glinting in the sunlight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Show off, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Art thought, and suppressed a secret smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made Art happy to watch them, and it felt good to bask in the sun, to feel it on his arms and his legs. It was still early June, but the temperature must have climbed past eighty degrees. It had been humid in the forest, but by the water the air felt crisp and clean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun flashed brilliantly off the surface of the water, casting his friends in a harsh glare. They looked like an old overexposed photograph, or a child’s crayon-colored dream come to life. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is what summer is. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Collie noticed him sitting on the bank alone and swam over. “You coming in?” he asked. Art shook his head. “Can you not swim?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can swim,” Art answered. “It’s just… it’s too deep.” He could only see a foot or two below the water’s surface. Below that, darkness straight down. He could see Collie’s arms as he tread water, but the rest of him was obscured by the quarry water. Pete, Ray, and Abraham were just floating heads, bobbing and laughing a dozen yards from shore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Collie pushed his wet hair out of his face. “I get that.” He braced his hands on the rock and lifted himself up out of the water, sitting next to Art. Art’s shirt sleeve was wet from where Collie’s arm touched his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to stop swimming on account of me,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s not on account of you,” Collie answered. “We have to dry off and eat anyways. I don’t know about the rest of them, but I don’t want to drive around for another four hours in wet shorts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in companionable silence for a minute, Collie kicking his legs and churning up water. The droplets seemed to catch fire in the afternoon sunlight. “What bothers you about the water?” Collie asked, looking over at him. The heat of Collie’s arm was still heavy against his arm, but neither of them moved away. Art’s face burned with the proximity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t see the bottom. I can swim fine,” Art explained. “But I don’t like it when I can’t see the bottom.” He almost wanted to add that no one knew what was down there, lurking below the reach of the sun. But that was the stuff of nightmares, and he didn’t want to seem stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have to find you a swimming pool, then,” Collie replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art fixed him with a look. “Are you making fun of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not making fun of you. I’m trying to be nice. I don’t make fun of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you know. At least not, like, seriously.” He had a faintly hurt look in his eyes, like this was something he really wanted to get across.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Art answered that look with a smile. “A swimming pool sounds nice, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Collie said simply. He got up and walked over to where his clothes were discarded, and started getting dressed. Art averted his eyes. He called out to the three in the water, “Come on and get out now! We gotta hit the road soon to keep on schedule!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be so lame!” Pete shouted back, in the middle of dunking Ray under the water. Ray pushed him away, laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dumbass, it’s your schedule,” Collie answered, sitting back down and ripping open the pack of beef jerky. “Get over here and eat your sandwiches.” The three reluctantly swam over and pulled themselves out of water, instead eating their lunch and drying under the sun. Art left his perch on the edge of the rock and went to sit with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ate their sandwiches and drank from their water bottles, warming themselves in the sun and keeping an eye on the time. When it hit 1:00 PM, Collie got up and said, “Time to go, guys. Pete, you’re driving.” He tossed the keys, and Pete caught them cleanly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye aye, captain.” Pete gave a mock salute and started getting dressed. “Ray can sit up front with me. We’ll debut our playlist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t wait,” Collie grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they left, Art looked back at the quarry one more time, at the murky depths and the glare it cast on the rock formations surrounding it. Then, he turned around and followed his friends through the trees.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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